


Well...

by Myx



Series: Fandot Creativity Night [28]
Category: Cabin Pressure, John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme
Genre: Gen, this is silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 18:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12538776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myx/pseuds/Myx
Summary: Arthur tells a story.Written for the Halloween themed edition of Fandot Creativity Night, prompts were "dancing," and/or "potions."





	Well...

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

Arthur adjusted the laptop, so the camera was in the proper position. He arranged the candles in an appropriate fashion and poured himself a glass of pineapple juice into his fancy plastic wine glass. He donned a hat, the same one, in fact, that they used in wear in black and white times, with that characteristic dent, and deemed himself ready. After pushing a few buttons on his laptop, he pushed 'record' on the camera and took his position. 

Creepy music started playing from his speakers. 

"Well," Arthur began in breathy, raspy, almost mysterious sort of tone, "since you ask me for a tale of potions, and of dancing, I believe I have such a tale that might cater to your interests, or it might not, but, being you're the one who asked me for such a tale, hopefully this is sufficient enough for you. It all began one day when I was in my room, which is where I'm at now, only I'm not, since I wasn't wearing these clothes, and nor was the Sun out. But, at any rate, my Mum came in and wanted to know what I was doing. I looked at her square in the eye, as her glasses she was wearing the time were square frames. Square frames. Square frames. That's a really fun set of words to say, isn't it? At any rate, after asking me, in such the same way in which you all have asked me for a tale, I told her that I was listening to a show.

A show, she cried, what on Earth would I be doing listening to show. As, surely, you  _watch_ shows and not listen to them, right?

After a long discussion about radio versus television, I looked at her, as she was still wearing those square frames, square frames, and said that I was listening to this sketch radio show on BBC Radio 4. The chap who wrote (and apparently) starred in this show-even though I never quite caught his name because of modesty or whatever silly, but seemingly important reason, did these tales of mystery, of misrule, and of other grand things. One such thing was about horsies and how this horse was trained to swim and was apparently also a cat. My Mum, however, wasn't too impressed with my story inside of the tale in which I'm telling you right now, so she left. After sitting around, pondering such things that people usually ponder about, I found myself transported to another world. A world that while it looked similar to world in which I had just left, was in fact, not that same world on account of the fact that this world wasn't in color, but rather, was in black and white. I found myself in a pub of some sort, simply because there was a wooden sign that simply said the word, "Pub" on it, so admittedly, it didn't take too much of an effort to piece that one together. A woman, or perhaps she would liked to be called a dame, I'm not entirely sure, who worked at the pub named Pub, came up to me as I entered and sat down at the bar.

Hello, she said, I'm a woman, and I work here. Tell me, my good sir, what would you like to drink?

I told her that I would like a pint of Sunflower cider. And, I was relieved that I didn't call her a dame, as she wanted to be called a woman, over being called a dame. She, thankfully, knew exactly what I was talking about, and produced a glass. The glass, however, was bubbling and sometimes it started singing opera, which was a bit alarming, but intriguing nonetheless. Look here ma'am, I called her ma'am as I didn't know her name since women, apparently back in black and white times didn't have names, what, pray tell is this glass doing?

Oh, she replied, well, it is bubbling and singing opera to you, sir. You did ask for a sunflower cider, no?

Yes, I said. Not no.

Well, she said, the whole process of taking a sunflower and making it more cider-y is that it becomes a bit of a potion. You can add certain things to it, and depending upon the things (like herbs, maybe some hemp, I'm not sure exactly), that are added, it yields a certain thing. Today, apparently, it is bubbling and singing opera.

At that moment, the bar turned into a theatre complete with a stage, hanging mics, and fancy, poofy dresses. After all, as I'm sure I've explained before, I found myself in black and white times in which dresses of the fancy and poofy sort existed and were actually worn, and not worn unironically. People started dancing in various styles, some waltz, some ballet, some were doing the Thriller dance, which just confused me since that was not going to be a proper dance for centuries. But, there was dancing.

Sir, the barmaid woman began, may I have this dance?

She, much like the room, magically had new clothes on. The only thing was, instead of wearing the fancy, poofy dresses that other nameless women were wearing, she, in fact, was wearing a pilot's uniform. And not just a pilot's uniform, but a captain's uniform. I ignored the subtle symbolic nature of this and danced with her as my potion cider started another round of singing opera. I couldn't tell you what, in fact, my cider was singing because I don't know anything about opera. And, with that, in mind, dearest viewers, listeners, and transcribers, who live in black and white times, and not black in white times, and who might be wearing square frames, square frames, I bid you all a good night!"

After stopping his camera, Arthur took a sip of his pineapple juice, took off his hat, and started whistling a tune. 

"Any chance to visit Belgium I regard as heaven sent," he muttered, as he walked around in his room, "Whether Flanders or Wallonia, I am equally content...."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my 6th month anniversary in the Fandot. :D  
> ...and with sincere apologies to John Finnemore.


End file.
